Chapter Ten: 'The Portlaw Inheritance of Patrick Duffy'
In his 88th year of life, Monsignor Patrick Duffy died. The priest’s funeral attracted no fewer than a crowd of 2,256 mourners; so many, that the church on the hill could have been filled eight times over. The service was officiated by no less than the Arch Bishop of Dublin and as the first row of attendees knelt to receive the sacrament of Communion in St. Patrick's Catholic Church, those at the very back of the queue reached down into the town of Portlaw itself. A few of the more thirsty ones decided to have a pint of porter from Maggie in the bar of The Cotton Mill instead of waiting for the Church bread and wine.
It was later learned that there had been a large service in Dublin for Monsignor Duffy, followed by a parade. Also; J.Morgan Butchers shop in Waterford held a five-minute silence on the hour of the priest's funeral when he and his two assistants stood in respect of the priest's passing.
During the week following Monsignor Duffy’s grand funeral and burial service, no fewer than eighty eight men and women who had once lived in Portlaw since the 35-year-old Father Patrick Duffy had arrived there fifty three years earlier, attended the grave of the much-loved priest. Most were women who had known the priest well and others were their offspring sons who were paying the priest their last respects because their own mother was no longer alive to do so. After paying their respects, each woman left a tear and a red rose upon the earth of the grave and each man smiled serenely as they left. All the women wore black capes with hoods and all the men also wore black coats which they held closed tightly as the wind blew wild. The ages of these women varied between sixty five and seventy two years, but each one had been an undoubted beauty in their prime of life and all of their lives had at one time been touched by the Portlaw priest. The Monsignor's grave was positioned alongside the joint grave of his parents.
It was later learned that there had been a large service in Dublin for Monsignor Duffy, followed by a parade. Also; J.Morgan Butchers shop in Waterford held a five-minute silence on the hour of the priest's funeral when he and his two assistants stood in respect of the priest's passing.
During the week following Monsignor Duffy’s grand funeral and burial service, no fewer than eighty eight men and women who had once lived in Portlaw since the 35-year-old Father Patrick Duffy had arrived there fifty three years earlier, attended the grave of the much-loved priest. Most were women who had known the priest well and others were their offspring sons who were paying the priest their last respects because their own mother was no longer alive to do so. After paying their respects, each woman left a tear and a red rose upon the earth of the grave and each man smiled serenely as they left. All the women wore black capes with hoods and all the men also wore black coats which they held closed tightly as the wind blew wild. The ages of these women varied between sixty five and seventy two years, but each one had been an undoubted beauty in their prime of life and all of their lives had at one time been touched by the Portlaw priest. The Monsignor's grave was positioned alongside the joint grave of his parents.
You see, that was the unusual trait that Patrick Duffy possessed ever since teenage years and could never manage to discard. When he looked at a beautiful woman he could genuinely believe for that moment that he was gazing into the eyes of an angel. When he spoke to a beautiful woman, the words may have come straight from the mouth of a priest, but they possessed this element of sensuousness that made them sound like words of love being passionately delivered by Romeo to Juliet.
You see, Patrick Duffy Junior was essentially a good man and one of the most Catholic of men ever to have come out of Portlaw, but like a Samson and many more good Catholic men before him and since, he was flawed. You see, whatever else Patrick Duffy Junior was; he was a man, and that mere fact was his greatest weakness of all! The fact that he looked fit, muscular and manly made him all the more fetching to the eye of a woman, especially when he came dressed in priestly cassock, holding a bible in his hand and a thought inside his head that mirrored a sinful look of desire in his eye whenever he saw a beautiful woman looking back at him invitingly.
What self-respecting Catholic woman has never in her wildest and weirdest of imaginations not wanted the most manly and handsome of lovers and husbands with the inherent Godliness and goodness of a priest? Patrick Duffy Junior was a man and a priest. Ever since the age of twenty plus, and particularly since he'd become a priest, he carried with him everywhere he went the very thing that every women secretly wanted; to defrock him and see him without his priestly garb! Each beautiful woman that the young handsome priest ever encountered could not conceal their innermost thoughts. Their 'come to bed eyes' always betrayed their desire to eat the forbidden fruit. Similarly, the look in the priest's eye invariably betrayed his secret desire also!
The last person to see Monsignor Patrick Duffy completely naked was 99-year-old Molly Making. Molly was the woman in Portlaw who washed, dressed and prepared the body of all deceased for burial. Her family had been laying out bodies ever since the days of Oliver Cromwell and all the undertakers for miles around continued to use the 'Making Home Birth and Burial Preparation Services'.
Molly had been coached in the art of laying out bodies ever since the age of nine years by her mother. The bodies would be first washed down and the hair combed and then dressed and laid out in a presentable manner for viewing after they had been daubed with fragrant smelling herbs. Then there would invariably be a Wake where the deceased person's life was fondly remembered over a few alcoholic drinks.
As was more common in days gone by, the woman who prepared the body for burial was often the same woman who performed the role of assisting home births; a sort of self-trained mid-wife. Molly’s family also acted in the role of home birth assistant and despite the advancement of the National Health Service since 1950, women of Portlaw still preferred to give birth at home. However, as home births were frowned upon by the National Health Service, if a woman opted for home delivery, they were often dependent upon people like Molly Making. To have experienced Molly in action would not have left anyone in doubt that she knew her trade as well as any 'qualified mid-wife.' She acted and looked the part of mid-wife in every respect, especially as her mother had obtained an official midwife's uniform many years earlier.
Since then, Molly was often heard to say that she had washed and prepared over 3,000 men, women, children and stillborn infants as well as helping to bring over 1,300 babies into the world. Not one person from Portlaw had ever been lowered into their final resting place until Molly had prepared them thoroughly; and after having downed three or four rum and blackcurrant shorts in the local pub on a Saturday night, she would occasionally boast about seeing the whole of Portlaw naked at one time or another, especially if she was attending the Wake of a corpse she had delivered as an infant or had washed down in preparation for a funeral!
“If I don’t see them in their birthday suits when they first come out, I always catch them bollock naked as they last go out!” she would laughingly boast.
Occasionally, someone might ask Molly to divulge some detail about a person who she’d delivered when they’d been born or who she’d prepared for burial. Drunk or sober, Molly would never break the confidence of her profession.
“However do you think the 'Makings' have kept the exclusivity of our profession from the hands of carpetbaggers for the past four hundred years? Do you think we could have kept it if we’d shown that we weren’t able to keep the secrets of the trade?” she would respond.
Even though Molly had become bedridden for three years before she died, nothing would ever induce the woman to disclose any detail about another she had tended to in her professional capacity as mid-wife and layer-outer. Any secrets that she held, she would take to her grave, and there were many!
Occasionally, someone might ask Molly to divulge some detail about a person who she’d delivered when they’d been born or who she’d prepared for burial. Drunk or sober, Molly would never break the confidence of her profession.
“However do you think the 'Makings' have kept the exclusivity of our profession from the hands of carpetbaggers for the past four hundred years? Do you think we could have kept it if we’d shown that we weren’t able to keep the secrets of the trade?” she would respond.
Even though Molly had become bedridden for three years before she died, nothing would ever induce the woman to disclose any detail about another she had tended to in her professional capacity as mid-wife and layer-outer. Any secrets that she held, she would take to her grave, and there were many!
While Molly Making held many secrets, she took one to the grave with her that would have rocked the Vatican to its very foundations had she ever broken the strict confidentiality of her profession. When she had prepared Monsignor Patrick Duffy for burial, she was washing his body when she noticed that his pinkie finger on each hand was crooked in shape. It was an uncommon sight to find any form of body disfigurement on either newly born infant or corpse and Molly knew that this physical defect was one that would be genetically transmitted across the generations.
Although unusual, such a defect was not uncommon to Molly Making. She had seen this very defect of a bent small finger on many infants she’d delivered, as well as having seen it upon a few corpses she had prepared for burial. She had come across such defects dozens of times during her career. There was not the slightest doubt in Molly’s mind as to the true significance of its genetic origin, having seen its like on so many occasions over the years; almost a hundred times!
Molly knew that the bent pinkie she had seen on Monsignor Patrick Duffy was precisely the same finger defect that she’d also seen on almost a hundred infants she’d delivered over the years. She’d seen this finger defect on a previous resident of Portlaw over 60 years ago on Patrick Duffy Senior after a fall from the church belfry ended his life. She'd also seen it on every one of his children at their birth. She'd seen it on eighty eight infants she'd delivered in Portlaw since Patrick Duffy had returned there as parish priest and also on the infant babe of the Widow Jezzabel Hussy.
Over one hundred years after his genetic findings from growing identical peas, the great scientific monk Mendel was now leaving his mark on the history of Portlaw as he enabled Molly Making to make sense of the mystery before her very eyes!
Molly knew that the bent pinkie she had seen on Monsignor Patrick Duffy was precisely the same finger defect that she’d also seen on almost a hundred infants she’d delivered over the years. She’d seen this finger defect on a previous resident of Portlaw over 60 years ago on Patrick Duffy Senior after a fall from the church belfry ended his life. She'd also seen it on every one of his children at their birth. She'd seen it on eighty eight infants she'd delivered in Portlaw since Patrick Duffy had returned there as parish priest and also on the infant babe of the Widow Jezzabel Hussy.
Over one hundred years after his genetic findings from growing identical peas, the great scientific monk Mendel was now leaving his mark on the history of Portlaw as he enabled Molly Making to make sense of the mystery before her very eyes!
Had Molly Making stood sentry by the graveside of Monsignor Patrick Duffy for the first week after his funeral, she would have recognised all eighty eight of those men plus many women who had attended the grave of this most popular priest of Portlaw as either being the mothers of infants she had delivered with the pinkie bent finger defect or those very same infant sons! Had she seen inside their buttoned coats, Molly Making would have noticed that nearly all the male attenders at the Monsignor's graveside were priests incognito!
Molly Making, lived and died being the true professional. She was buried with her secret, but the story does not end there. Indeed, there is no precise means of us ever knowing where it will end, Portlaw or heaven itself; merely where it might end. You see, God is said to work in mysterious ways and there are fewer ways that are as mysterious as those ways of the Holy Roman Catholic Church.
Molly Making, lived and died being the true professional. She was buried with her secret, but the story does not end there. Indeed, there is no precise means of us ever knowing where it will end, Portlaw or heaven itself; merely where it might end. You see, God is said to work in mysterious ways and there are fewer ways that are as mysterious as those ways of the Holy Roman Catholic Church.
From the eighty eight children who were born in Portlaw with the bent pinkie finger, all eighty eight of them were males and all eighty eight of them.................went on to become Catholic priests! They had all advanced themselves in the church at such a promotional pace over the past thirty years that as time progressed, there seemed to be no Office of the Church that was beyond their reach. Today, seven of the original gang of eighty eight are Monsignors, nineteen are Bishops, six are Archbishops and fifty six are Cardinals!
Given that the entire College of Cardinals in the Vatican that form the Papal Conclave to elect the next Pope numbers one hundred and eighty three in total, and knowing that a two thirds majority vote is what’s required to elect a future Pope, there’s no telling what influence a former Portlaw priest is capable of playing in the future, is there; especially fifty six of them?
Given that the entire College of Cardinals in the Vatican that form the Papal Conclave to elect the next Pope numbers one hundred and eighty three in total, and knowing that a two thirds majority vote is what’s required to elect a future Pope, there’s no telling what influence a former Portlaw priest is capable of playing in the future, is there; especially fifty six of them?
Should you ever happen to visit the town of Portlaw in County Waterford and notice a walking stick standing outside a house; consider for a moment what is going on inside that house as you spare a thought for Patrick Duffy, a Portlaw man through and through.
The End.
William Forde.
Copyright: June 28th, 2012
The End.
William Forde.
Copyright: June 28th, 2012
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